


Cider

by Angharad_du_Bree



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angharad_du_Bree/pseuds/Angharad_du_Bree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A horse tale with a dash of Tam Lin for my horse obsessed girl child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cider

**Author's Note:**

> A horse tale with a dash of magic for my horse obsessed girl child. Please be kind to the noob writer. This idea woke me in the night and I wrote it down before it ran away. Not beta'd, checked over by just me. I would appreciate any constructive criticism or a simple 'cute'. Thank you all very much and please enjoy. :curtsy:

When people still touched wood and hung a horseshoe above the door, a county squire lived quietly near a wood, by a hill, in a green valley. He kept a few horses and the groom Benjamin took care of them like a mother to her children. Grooms are not supposed to have favorites (any more than mothers are), but Ben loved Cider best.

He had only been the stable boy when she was born, but he knew instantly she was special. Late at night, he would linger in her stall and talk over the day, idly whittling a bit of wood or munching on an apple. Whenever he was frustrated by life or saddened by death, Cider made all things better.

He trained her to walk, trot and canter in response to his words, then his touch until he simply looked and Cider responded. The young squire said that Ben could lead Cider into Hell and she would go with good will as long as he led her. The old squire simply snorted and said Ben was no such fool.

Sadly, horses do not live as long as men and day by day, Cider grew old and weary.  She had never foaled and Ben sorrowed that there would be no more like his Cider to keep him comfort after she left.

On a day like many before, Ben was returning from a late errand, leading Cider. He delayed and walked slowly, savoring his time left with Cider. So lost in his thoughts was he, that he never heard the faint jingling to many harnesses and the soft singing of many throats. By the time Ben roused from his thoughts, he found himself surrounded by faerie riders.

What beautiful ladies, singing songs of lightest joy and heaviest sorrow. What gallant lords, of strong arm and gentle face. But all Ben saw were the horses. The finest of every breed were represented, each prancing, proud and splendid. He wept to see them.

“What do you weep, man?” asked a kindly maid as her lord paused beside her.

“Your horses are so beautiful, my lady”, answered Ben, standing by Cider’s head.

“Come and ride with us”, suggested her lord, “for you will never rider a finer mount.”

“I thank you very much, my lord, but for me there is no finer than my Cider and never will be,” replied faithful Ben. Cider leaned over Ben’s shoulder and affectionately nickered.  “But her riding days are gone and she can only bear light weight.”

“Then we shall walk with you,” the lady said. The lord dismounted and helped his lady down as well. The other riders rode or walked as they pleased, laughing and chatting merrily. Though Ben felt dull in his work clothes, the young lord engaged him in discussions about horses and hunting while his lady sometimes participated and other times sang softly about nothing in particular.

Ben felt twenty again and Cider behaved like a young colt. When the lord suggested riding again, it seemed natural to mount Cider, just like the old days.  The company picnicked merrily. Horse races were set up and the ladies cheered while the lords (and more than a few ladies) sped along the path. Cider ran and did well, but none could beat the kindly maid and her black stallion.

Ben ate and drank his fill, though he could have told what it was or how it tasted. Time blurred and when he fell asleep, he knew not.

Ben woke the next day with a stick in his back and a fogged head. After a moment all color drained from his face. All the old stories of men eating faerie food, and sleeping away seven, twenty, a hundred years played wickedly through his mind. Where was Cider? Had the squire searched for them? Was there anyone he knew still alive?

But all was well. Cider came when he whistled for her, though she was covered in grass and dirt. The squire was still there and merely though he had stopped along the road out of concern for Cider.

So Ben, not wishing to be thought a madman, did not speak of his adventure to anyone until he visited his mother. The wise woman knew her son well and had the whole story out of him before they were done with tea.  She sipped her tea, nibbled a biscuit and thought while he paced. Then she sent him home, saying “So far, nothing has come of your adventure but a stolen night and may that be all that comes of it. So wear a cross round your neck, nail a horseshoe over your door and forget it. It wouldn’t hurt you to attend church more either.”

It came to pass that there were repercussions of that night, though not the ones Ben might have expected. Cider was discovered to be pregnant. Ben thought of changelings and false hope, but against all odds she delivered of twins, the finest pair ever seen in that county. Ben took the care of them and their offspring until he was old and ready to rest. When he retired after being head stableman for many years, the young squire made him a gift – a young filly the color of cider.


End file.
